Masks
by Naril
Summary: Eames allows Ariadne insight into his past at her insistance but the little architect does not realise how big a secret he is prepared to share and what it means to shatter a man's protective mask and that she will have to pick up the pieces.


_This turned out very angsty and a lot more intense than I first thought. I blame my tonsillitis and the fact that I've somehow become obsessed with Eames since I watched Inception again after a long time and I thought: __Who is that guy? I mean it looks more like Cobb is asking him for help than offering him a job. Well, here's me attempting to give him a little back-story._

_ Like I said, this is quite depressing in my opinion, but I've got another Ari/E one-shot in the pipeline which is a lot more light-hearted._

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><p><em><strong>Masks<strong>_

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><p>She had never seen him so tense. Scratch that, the architect thought, she had never seen him so nervous.<p>

"You don't have to, you know." She told him, watching him as he gripped the steering wheel of the car tighter. They had parked a few minutes ago, but he made no move to get out.

She knew that it was her fault. After all, she had wanted to know where he had been disappearing to ever since they had taken this job in England.

"No, it's better if you know." Eames was not looking at her, his eyes on a building across the street. A school, she realised when she followed his gaze.

Ariadne was no longer sure if she was doing the right thing, but he had promised her that he would let her see behind the mask he usually presented to the world and she felt that it came with an obligation to take in everything he was willing to share, not matter what.

She reached over and gave the tense muscles of his arm a squeeze.

Finally he did meet her eyes and she had to admit once again that she was not used to him leaving himself so open for her, without the well-worn shields to protect him.

"Only if you're sure." She told him, letting go after another short squeeze.

"I am." He told her with no trace of the familiar sarcasm or impenetrable smirk. He took her hand before it retreated all the way and pressed a kiss to the inside of her palm before he opened the door and got out, waiting for her to do the same.

She followed with a few steps behind him as he made his way towards the entrance of the school just in time for the bell to ring and children to start making their way out.

She had a feeling she knew what they were waiting for but was still not prepared enough when one particular chest-nut haired little girl broke away from the mass of children and launched herself at the Forger who caught her in a well-practised tight hug.

"Daddy!" She cried and Adriane was hit by the uncomfortable notion that she really should not be here as she watched the girl plant a kiss on his bearded cheek.

Eames chose that moment to look at her over the child's head, the smile he had firmly placed on his face slipping for no longer than half a second, but the young woman caught it nonetheless. He wanted her to be here and see this. She gave a little nod and tried to smile at him.

He turned back to the excited little girl who had wrapped both arms and legs around him, clinging to him like some sort of baby monkey in light blue school uniform. "I've brought a friend, Isa. She'd like to meet you."

The child followed his gaze to Ariadne's frozen form who found herself scrutinised by a set of achingly familiar slate-coloured eyes.

The girl hopped down and one hand still tightly gripping the much larger one of her father, approached her.

"Hello, I'm Isabelle. Nice to meet you." She stuck out her other tiny hand for the architect to take and shook the young woman's hand with determination, clearly trying to give a grown-up impression.

Ariadne had to gulp down the knot in her throat, before she could answer. "Nice to meet you, Isabelle. My name is Ariadne."

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><p>She was seven and one of the most observant and curious seven year olds Ariadne had ever seen. Admittedly her interactions with children were limited to her sister's kids who she only saw once or twice a year.<p>

Isabelle had asked her how she knew her daddy and the two adults had struggled with the fact that she could clearly see through the 'work' excuse. It did not seem to bother her though and she carried on talking like a waterfall afterwards.

"Mummy thinks I'm at Amy's, doing homework." Isabelle told her father proudly, idly playing with the spoon in her hot chocolate with cream. "Why can't she know that you visit me, daddy?" She added after a long silence which caught both adults by surprise since she had been talking for the last forty-five minutes straight.

Her expression was of innocent inquisitiveness but Ariadne detected the hurt in her big gray eyes and knew that Eames did too, because he stiffened in his seat next to his daughter.

"I told you my lovely, it's our little secret. She would just get mad that we're having fun without her."

Isabelle was clearly not buying the questionable explanation and Ariadne wondered why one of the greatest liars she knew could not come up with something better. She assumed he simply did not want to.

"No, that's not it. She just doesn't like you anymore, does she?" The little girl glared up at the Forger and dropped her spoon into her mug with a loud clink.

Ariadne watched in silence how he deflated under his daughter's gaze. "Yes, she is. She thinks I'm a bad influence on you." He admitted, tight smile in place and he reached over to gently pull on her chestnut ponytail.

"Hey!" The girl giggled, fighting off his hand. The relief was clearly visible on his face at her reaction, defenses lowered by the child next to him.

After another sip of her drink, Isabelle grew solemn again, though, eyes flicking between him and Ariadne. She bit her lower lip.

"You're leaving again, aren't you?" She asked, voice small and quivering.

The two adults shared a glance and the architect thought for sure that her heart would crack in two at the tears in the little girl's eyes when he nodded.

She did not protest, not even ask why, just threw herself at her father's chest again and quietly sobbed into his shirt.

Ariadne could do nothing but look on helplessly while Eames tried to console his daughter not quite managing to conceal the pain in his eyes this time while he held her close.

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><p>The drive to the hotel near Heathrow airport was a quiet one. She had offered to drive and he had let her, leaving him to stare out the passenger-window at the gray sky.<p>

"She's beautiful." Ariadne noted quietly when the silence became unbearable to her.

The Forger gave a short nod, still studiously looking anywhere but at her.

"Her mum… she knows what I do. She said if she ever catches me near Isabelle, she'd sell me out. She thinks it's not good for her." He spoke after a long pause; voice composed as ever and rubbed his forehead as if fighting a headache.

"At least she promised she'd use the money I send so Isabelle can go to uni."

The architect did not know what to say, having been allowed to see far more than she had ever expected him to reveal to her.

Taking her eyes off the road for a second, she reached for his fidgeting hand, interlacing her fingers with his. He had told her once that it was one of the signs of ex-smokers; hands that could not keep still and twitchy fingers.

He only quickly squeezed her hand, still not rewarding her with eye contact. She was not going to pressure him either.

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><p>It was the middle of the night and she woke to find herself alone in bed. Sitting up, she found him by the window, watching planes land and take off by the minute.<p>

"You're the only one who knows about her." He spoke, having probably sensed her eyes on his back. She thought she should feel privileged and grateful but found that she only felt bad for what he had gone through to show her this part of his life.

"Why did you show me?" She whispered, voice having abandoned her.

He did not reply, much less turn around where he stood, leaning against the window.

"Daniel." It still sounded foreign on her lips. It had only been a few weeks ago that he had confided in her his real, given name.

Slightly startled, he turned around, finally meeting her gaze. Even in the dim light from the outside she could tell that his face was carefully blank.

"No more masks, remember?" She stayed where she was, not wanting to corner him.

He stared at her for a little longer then looked away, shoulders starting to shake ever so slightly, but she could still see it, backlit as he was by the window. She reached for him and he looked up, eyes slowly glazing over with moisture.

He hesitated only a little longer, before crawling onto the bed and into her arms. The moment his arms wrapped around her tiny waist, head in her lap with her hand stroking his hair, he choked on a sob that he had been holding for years it seemed.

In that moment Ariadne hated herself for digging into his life like this. Some masks were there for a reason. She wordlessly pulled his broad frame closer with her free arm around his back.

"She's the one thing I've done right in my life." He confessed, strong grip around her waist tightening convulsively. She bent down to kiss his head, wanting to undo what she had done by demanding the truth.

"I'm not even allowed to see her properly." She heard him croak into her nightshirt and the guilt kept gnawing at her because it did not take a genius to understand how much he trusted her to let her see this.

As if sensing something was wrong with her, he looked up, still lying across her lap. Tears that only helped to make her feel worse blurred his usually sharp eyes. She bit the inside of her cheek.

Before she could say something, he kissed her hand, which had slid to cup his scruffy cheek. "Thank you." He said and she had no idea what he meant. She should have just left it alone, instead of digging into clearly still open wounds.

She pulled him up until they were lying on their sides, facing each other in a huddle of limbs and tears though she could not remember when she had started to cry as well; only realised that she did when Eames kissed at the salty tracks on her cheeks.

"I'm sorry." She whispered when he buried his face in her shoulder, her arms tightening around his neck. "I'm sorry."

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><p><em>Ariadne always needs to dig a little too deep, right? Well, that's what a friend of mine claims anyways. In fact, he called her a 'whiny, meddling brat' in the film. Obviously we got into an argument about it since I completely disagree, but at least it inspired me to write this one-shot.<em>

_What're you thinking? Let me now, because Eames is a bloody challenge especially in a situation like this which is miles away from anything in the film. __What do you think of the name I came up with? __I think it perfectly plausible for him to have a kid somewhere just to stress that. _

_Do you guys disagree? Whether or not, it would be great if you could let me know what you think. XD_


End file.
